Never Understanding
by Satiah
Summary: I stared into your darkened eyes last night, Itachi-san, as you cried your tired, silent tears. You didn't look at me, but you knew I was watching. It often seems as if you understand me, but I don't understand you. Maybe I never will.


Naruto © Masashi Kishimoto

... ... ...

I stared into your darkened eyes last night, Itachi-san. The deep, blood-red color is still as vibrant as always. I know you can no longer use them, but from the outside, they still look the same. The light was dim, so you didn't notice me studying your face; you were wrapped up in your own thoughts, like usual, hiding from the world in the way that introverts tend to do. You kept still. Thinking. No emotion crossed your face to betray your thoughts, but eventually, a single crimson tear escaped and rolled down your cheek, leaving behind a stained path of red. I am afraid for you, every time you cry tears of blood. It happens frequently now; I know you never intend for it to. You aren't the type to cry.

I watched the droplet as it was joined by another, this one sliding quickly down the slippery path forged by the previous tear. You were so absorbed in your thoughts that I don't think you noticed you were crying. Well, I'm sure a part of you was aware. You're always aware; always able to come out of your thoughts at a moment's notice and not be lost in a brief fog of confusion. However, the part of you that was aware isn't the part of you that makes conscious decisions, so you didn't wipe the tear away.

It eventually dripped off your pale and tired face, and after a brief moment's freefall, it was lost—absorbed by the thick, dark fabric of your cloak. Once again, you failed to move, even as the second tear followed the first. I watched you, and you were aware, but not aware. It's times like this that make me wonder about you, Itachi-san. I wish I knew what you thought at the hour of midnight, what things entered your mind to cause your inner grief. I'm sure I'll never know.

Eventually, you relaxed into your chair and closed your crimson-colored irises in weariness. I knew your damaged eyes could not see me, even though I was standing but a short distance away. Still, I was aware that you knew precisely what I was doing, in that aware-but-not part of you. You knew I watched. You knew I saw. But you didn't care, and neither did I.

You sighed softly, tiredly, before telling me you were going to sleep, and that we would get an early start in the morning. I replied with something, although I don't remember what it was, other than a noncommittal noise barely grunted out. You didn't care; you knew I knew already. And you knew I would answer in such a way, even if I had chosen to not respond at all. The silent understanding which manifests itself between partners is particularly strong with us, I think, for you talk little, but we both understand volumes about what you mean.

As you went to sleep, I knew you were still aware of your surroundings. The ANBU part of you would never let you rest completely, so I shuffled around as I normally do, knowing that my normal noises would not disturb you. Before closing my own eyes, however, I looked at you once more, wondering if those eyes of yours ever dream. I know you are sometimes haunted by visions at night, but I don't know if they are dreams or memories. Neither do I know if you see pleasant dreams. I'd remember to ask if I thought you'd answer. But you won't.

So I stayed quiet there, as I nodded off while I watched you sleep. My last conscious thoughts wondered if you'd be present in the morning, or if you'd finally succumb to death in a peaceful sleep. I think I wonder that nearly every night. But I also know you'd never give in; not yet, and certainly not now. We still have work to do. And I know you won't rest until it's complete. This, we both understand.

In retrospect, as I stand beside you now, watching the breeze play with your hair and dark cloak, I wonder. Is that how you know-without-knowing? While one part of you is certain of one thing, the other part of you is sure of something else? It makes little sense to me. But that doesn't matter, I suppose. I don't need to dwell on contradictions, you do that for me. And once the thinking is done, you tell me what to destroy. Another understanding between us.

You're an enigma, Itachi-san. And as I waste time wondering about your mysteries, you're already moving ahead of me, footsteps oddly sure on the unfamiliar terrain. It's before dawn and I can't see in the dark, so I stumble until you sigh and direct my feet to a better path.

It seems that you understand me. I guess I'll never understand you.


End file.
